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Note: vf[Broderbund Family Archive #110, Vol. 2 M-Z, Ed. 5, Social Security Death Index: U.S., Date of Import: 16 Jun 1998, Internal Ref. #1.112.5.7511.144]
Individual: Martini, Edna
Social Security #: 048-38-1560
SS# issued in: Connecticut
Birth date: 31 Oct 1888
Death date: Nov 1977
Residence code: Connecticut
ZIP Code of last known residence: 06877
Primary location associated with this ZIP Code:
Ridgefield, Connecticut [Recollections by RAD, 1998]
Some of my fondest memories from childhood come from the Kellogg Street place (Brookfield, CT). We used to visit often, and the trip was a Big Adventure. In those days, there were no Interstate Highways, and the route was mostly on secondary roads, taking nearly two hours. One car we had, a bronze-colored Nash, was seriously underpowered and had trouble making it up Stormville Mt, constantly shifting up and down. I remember that Dad hated that car, having previously owned a Packard! We had a dog in the fifties, Peppy, who was desperate to go with us. She could always tell when we were getting ready for a trip, as she took great interest in the ritual of Packing The Car. She hated to ride and she got carsick every time. But if we didn't take her she would have followed us on foot! The car was carefully packed, with the entire household, it seemed. Even our back seat was piled high with suitcases and boxes, leaving little slots for us to sit in.
I could always tell the minute we crossed the border from New York into Connecticut. The roads smelled different! Secondary roads in CT were commonly treated with hot tar/oil and covered with a thin layer of sand. Consequently, there was always a miasma of fragrant, tarry odors to greet us New York travellers. That aroma is one of my most powerful memories to this day.
Grandma baked. Oh, how she baked! And in a coal-fired kitchen range! This range was a monster. I recall two ovens, side-by-side, warming bins up top, a tank for heating water, and about an acre of perfectly flat cooking surface. The ovens had temperature gauges built into the doors, but they had long ago ceased functioning. How she managed a precision art like baking under these conditions is beyond me. Opposite the range was an old Hoover cabinet that she really used, sifting flour out of the big bin for her masterpieces.
Monday was wash day, and it took most of the day -- even though Grandma had an electric washer. It may have been electric, but it was hardly automatic! Filling the tub with hot water from the tank on the kitchen range (no indoor plumbing yet), she then set up each operation, such as wash, rinse, etc. using what appeared to be a miniature gearshift on the washer. Instead of a spin dry, as on modern washers there was a mangle: two rollers through which she passed the clothes to have the excess water squeezed out of them. The damp clothes were hung on the maze of clotheslines that crisscrossed the backyard. Amazing as it sounds, clothes will dry even in the coldest sub-zero weather!
This was an old colonial house, known as the Kellogg house�Kellogg being a name of some history. There was a huge front door that was seldom used. It had a massive iron lock, with the largest key I had ever seen. The front door entered on a small transverse hallway, with a stairway to the second floor. To the right was the "front room", which was kept closed up and used only on special occasions. This room extended the whole depth of the right side of house and contained an eclectic collection of furniture and end tables. And doilies. Grandma loved to crochet. Among the furniture was a crank Victrola and a collection of 12" disks, some recorded on only one side, and an old upright piano that wanted tuning, and had lost the ivory tops to three of its keys. To the left of the front entrance was another large room that was used as a sitting room and dining room. There was a very large fireplace with a 4x8 granite hearth and swinging hooks to hold pots over the fire. To the left of the fireplace were two brick ovens that grandpa used to store kindling. The fireplace was never used in the wintertime, as one of the coal stoves stood right in the middle of the hearthstone. On special occasions during the rest of the year, Grandpa would lay a fire. This event was quite exciting to us kids, because none of us had fireplaces in our homes. Then came the "magic dust" that Grandpa sprinkled on the fire to make the flames prettily colored. This must have been various metallic salts of strontium, copper, etc. but it never failed to impress us.
Beside the house, surrounded by a low stone wall, was a large (perhaps 25�50), formal garden filled with all kinds of wondrous plants and flowers that I never saw in other people's gardens. It was only after I grew up that I understood the reason: Those were old-fashioned flowers; like phlox, pinks, hollyhock, bleeding heart, foxglove, hen-and-chicks, etc. Grandma had a green thumb, and I can remember her spending whole afternoons puttering around in her garden. When she got older, she gave up on the outdoor work, but her house plants were a wonder in their own right
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